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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903285">because of you (I took my time to come around)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weboury/pseuds/Weboury'>Weboury</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(heaps of it), (sort of), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, F/M, Fluff, Gen, POV Jaime Lannister, Pining, There's goats, and—therefore—some minor violence, be warned: I tried to make it funny, efforts were made to represent accurate geography as well as traveling times, it probably works better if you think of landscape as a concept instead of a physical space, submitting to the mortifying ordeal of bed sharing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:40:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,708</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25903285</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Weboury/pseuds/Weboury</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaime, curator at the Tully Museum, wants to spend more time with Brienne, and maybe finally work around telling her how he feels about her. When Brienne, a historian, is tasked with retrieving the legendary sword Widow’s Wail from King’s Landing, Jaime thinks it’s the perfect time to put a plan in motion, only to find himself with Brienne and his cousin Cleos on an awkward road trip across the Riverlands. And then a goat shows up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/tall_wolf_of_tarth/gifts">tall_wolf_of_tarth</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Here it is! </p><p>tall_wolf_of_tarth, thank you for the great ideas: I loved your prompts and I did my best to live up to their potential. I love your sense of humor (tall_wolf's fics are a delight, go check them out) so I tried to make this funny. I once again offer my apologies about that, but I’m glad you found joy in the story and that it made you laugh. It was made with love &lt;3</p><p>Thank you as well to the great <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencat/pseuds/jencat/works">jencat</a> for holding my hand while I panicked over this, and thanks a million for the dedicated beta work. You rock! All remaining mistakes are, of course, mine.</p><p>The prompts were:</p><p>1. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FanwhJ8fP-U">“Because of You” by Lewis Watson</a><br/>2. Car trip from the Riverlands to King’s Landing. Cleos is there, and their car hits a goat<br/>3. Bed sharing</p><p>Title taken from the song in the prompt, so I could use all three somehow.</p><p>When reading: Time is the "present" unless stated at the beginning of a section.</p><p>Apologies to all historians and museum curators everywhere for the blatant disregard to reality.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“<em>It’s only ten hours</em>,” Brienne said in a horrible, high-pitched imitation of Jaime’s voice. “<em>It’ll be fun</em>.”</p>
<p>On the passenger’s seat, Jaime puffed out his chest defensively. How had everything gone so wrong?</p>
<p>“Is it <em>my</em> fault we got lost now?”</p>
<p>“Yes!” Brienne flicked her eyes from the road to him and back again. “This was <em>your</em> idea!” </p>
<p>It was already getting dark, but Jaime could see her flush. A rage shade. The shade reserved increasingly more often for him today. </p>
<p>“You’re driving!” </p>
<p>“You’re in charge of the map!”</p>
<p>“<em>Cleos</em> was in charge of the map!”</p>
<p>A small cough came from the backseat. </p>
<p>“I’m afraid, coz, that Miss Tarth said <em>you</em> were in charge of the map.” </p>
<p>Jaime’s head swiveled on its axis so fast he thought he might get a kink in his neck. Cleos looked like a weasel at the best of times, and right now he looked more and more like a potential punching bag. Probably the worst addition to his plans so far. </p>
<p>“Yeah, but <em>then</em> I told you to do it, that I’d handle the itinerary.” </p>
<p>His cousin hunched up apologetically, but persisted with the temerity of the foolish. </p>
<p>“But <em>then</em> Miss Tarth said whoever sat at the front was in charge of the map.”</p>
<p>Brienne’s grunt was adamant in her agreement. </p>
<p>Cleos was <em>definitely</em> the worst addition to Jaime’s plans. </p>
<p>“Well,” Jaime crossed his arms and fixed his gaze on the car’s dash. “I thought it was a joke.”</p>
<p>Brienne scoffed and turned to face him fully. “You always say I have no sense of humor!”</p>
<p>Jaime scowled back.</p>
<p>“I’ve <em>never</em> said—”</p>
<p>“... guys.”</p>
<p>“You’re <em>always</em>—”</p>
<p>“Guys.”</p>
<p>“—that you have no—” </p>
<p>Cleos’ hand shoved between them and pointed forward.</p>
<p>“GOOOAAAT!”</p>
<p>Jaime and Brienne followed his finger. Right there, in the middle of the road, was a black goat, insouciantly munching, dreadingly unmoving, and increasingly close.</p>
<p>All three screams filled the car.</p><hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Seven days before</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Paper bag in hand, Jaime walked into Brienne’s office with the intention of bullying her into having lunch. It used to be his office at the museum but—magnanimous as he was—he’d agreed to share without complaint. </p>
<p>Brienne was too busy to spare him even some idle chat these days, and, truth be told, he missed her. He even missed the big frown she was currently directing at her screen.</p>
<p>When she sensed his presence, however, she looked up: all twinkling eyes and a blush he didn’t understand the meaning of.</p>
<p>“Dr Stark says I’m to oversee Widow’s Wail’s retrieval from King’s Landing.” </p>
<p>Jaime beamed. “Excellent.” </p>
<p>She’d been the obvious choice, of course. But as the maester curator, he had been very enthusiastic in his recommendation. </p>
<p>“I can’t believe they offered it to me.”</p>
<p>A recommendation he’d insisted was kept secret.</p>
<p>“Nonsense,” Jaime nudged a chair closer and sat across her. “You’re one of like, two people who care about that sword enough to transfer it properly.”</p>
<p>She narrowed her eyes at him. “And the other person is you?” </p>
<p>“Indeed,” he unfolded the paper bag with great theatricality. “Lucky for you, I’m going, too.”</p>
<p>He offered her the sardine sandwich he’d made for her that morning. Besides having the most astonishing eyes and the most stubborn disposition he’d ever encountered, Brienne also had the worst taste. Eating anything, he could understand. <em>Enjoying</em> anything, on the other hand… </p>
<p>She took the sandwich with a satisfied grin. </p>
<p>“Dream team,” she quipped, and produced a half-finished bottle of orange juice to offer him.</p>
<p>“Sure,” he grimaced and waved the bottle away. “You got the brains and I got the taste buds.”</p>
<p>Brienne smirked. “Craven.”</p>
<p>He watched as she took a bite and gulped it down with the juice. Jaime was enraptured for a moment. She was more muscular than your average historian, or, indeed, your average <em>anything</em>. The lines of her neck arched in a wonderful display of white, freckled skin. </p>
<p>“I prefer the term ‘smart’,” he focused on his own lunch in an attempt to stop staring. “At least I can make sure you have all the fish your constitution needs. You work too much.”</p>
<p>“My knight in white armor,” she teased absent-mindedly as she glanced at her calendar. </p>
<p>“My wench,” he mocked. Then, more seriously. “I haven’t seen a lot of you lately.”</p>
<p>“These last-minute arrangements are killing me,” she admitted. “But I’ll have that data you requested on Monday.”</p>
<p>“That’s not—”</p>
<p>“Hey,” she beamed up at him. “Since you’re going, we could get a hotel somewhere.”</p>
<p>Jaime choked on his half-chewed sandwich. </p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>A flush covered her cheeks. “To save expenses. You must know a hotel in King’s Landing, right?” She stopped, blushed even more. “Unless you’d rather stay somewhere or… with someone else?”</p>
<p>Jaime shook his head vigorously. “Not at all, not at all. We can do that. Totes, yeah.” </p>
<p>“That’s—” Brienne cut herself short to raise an eyebrow. “Totes?” </p>
<p>Jaime tried to shrug it off. “I’ve been around the kids’ exhibition too long.”</p>
<p>She rolled her eyes, but he could see her amusement. </p>
<p>“That settles it, then,” she gave him a toothy smile and stood up, stretching her arms above her head. Jaime leaned back appreciatively. “I can book us a flight for Sunday.” </p>
<p>Genius wasn’t something that some people would associate with Jaime Lannister, but he liked to think he had his moments. </p>
<p>“Actually,” he said, as casual as possible. “You know what would be nicer?”</p><hr/>
<p>Brienne slammed the brakes and wrenched the steering wheel to the left. The car spun wildly, but it was too late. </p>
<p>Jaime felt the bump of the unfortunate goat against his door, and heard it bleat as it flew across the air and landed on the patch of grass beyond the road. The car came to a halt right on the curb among the bushes. </p>
<p>“Fucking hells!” he yelled.</p>
<p>“Oh gods!” Brienne released the wheel and buried her face in her hands. “Oh gods, I killed it. I killed the goat!” </p>
<p>Cleos groaned from where he’d been sent sprawling on the backseat. </p>
<p>“It’s alright,” Jaime realized he was gripping Brienne’s arm, and unfurled his fist to a concerned pat. “We’re alright.” </p>
<p>Brienne’s shoulders shook. Her voice came muffled from between her fingers. “I ran over the fucking goat, Jaime!”</p>
<p>“Well,” he swallowed uncertainly. “It wasn’t quite <em>over</em> the goat.”</p>
<p>She made a noise that so close to a snarl he quickly removed his hand. </p>
<p>“Guys, look!” Cleos pointed. </p>
<p>Jaime squinted. The car’s lights lit the goat at a weird angle, mixing its features into one single hairy, black mass with odd sharp lines. As they watched, it suddenly jerked, and both Jaime and Cleos gasped. </p>
<p>“Oh gods,” Brienne peered through her fingers. “Is there much blood?”</p>
<p>The goat shook again. </p>
<p>Brienne jammed back, straight like a ramrod. “It’s alive!” </p>
<p>She bolted out the door in its direction, and before Jaime knew what he was doing, he was pushing through the bushes and trailing after her, muttering curses under his breath.</p>
<p>Brienne was squatting next to the goat, but as soon as she extended a hand to comfort it, the animal gave a violent jolt, aiming its large horns in Brienne’s general direction. </p>
<p>She jumped back and crashed onto Jaime, who tugged her to him. </p>
<p>“It’s too scared,” she said, stubborn eyes fixed on the goat. “But we need to make sure it’s okay.”</p>
<p>Jaime thought that the creature couldn’t be too well if it kept wobbling like that, the poor thing, but he decided to keep that to himself for the moment.</p>
<p>“What the hells was it <em>doing</em> in the middle of the road?” Jaime asked aloud.</p>
<p>It was a big goat, too. A ram. Its eyes were yellow, the rectangle of its pupils struggling to focus after the blow. It bleated softly, and puffed lots of air, making an effort to at least sit on all fours. </p>
<p>“Jaime, hoodie,” Brienne tugged at his sleeve, jutting her chin towards the beast’s horns. </p>
<p>Swift as a deer, the hoodie was in his hands. She motioned to take it, but he shook his head. </p>
<p>“It’s <em>my</em> hoodie. I’ll do it.”</p>
<p>Brienne spared him an unimpressed glare. “Jaime, that hoodie is mine.” </p>
<p>He frowned at the blue fabric. “Oh?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, you were cold. Like three months ago.”</p>
<p>“Ah.” That was right. He felt like blushing. He’d kept the hoodie because he’d wanted an excuse to go back to her place, but then he’d kept it because it smelled of her. “Huh.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, give it here.”</p>
<p>“It has a tag,” Cleos suggested from behind them. Jaime gave a start. Cleos had the weird ability to go unnoticed until it was really awkward, and Jaime hated the fact his cousin had never used that to sneak upon a bear at some point. A primeval sense of pride went through him when Cleos recoiled under his gaze. “O-On the neck,” Cleos ventured again. “The tag.” </p>
<p>“He’s right.”</p>
<p>Jaime flicked his attention back to Brienne. The goat had a leather collar around the neck, with a metal engraving attached. Brienne was bending down to read it, but the goat buckled its head, trying to scare them. Jaime stepped between her and the horns.</p>
<p>“Careful there, wench. I’ll cover its head first.” </p>
<p>Brienne opened her mouth to retort, but Jaime had already crouched, wondering what the hells he was trying to accomplish with all this.</p>
<p>He tried to assess if the animal was visibly hurt. There was no blood, and he wished he could tell if its insides were unharmed, too. The inspection finished at the goat’s eyes. Its lopsided stare was all rage and no sentience. </p>
<p><em>It wants to scare you, old boy</em>, Jaime told himself. <em>Don’t let it</em>. </p>
<p>He crawled his way to the goat, making soothing sounds as if it was a dog. The goat only stared back. Considering this a success, he calculated and with a final flourish, covered both the goat’s eyes and horns. Behind him, Cleos let out a small shriek of celebration. </p>
<p><em>Now for the hard part</em>. Jaime knelt to hold the goat’s neck still. When his fingertips grazed the long black fur, the animal trembled and nuzzled him with a quick-breathing nose. Brienne’s worried gasp gave him a surge of bravery, so he held the goat’s uncovered snout and fumbled for the tag.</p>
<p>“Vargo,” Jaime read. </p>
<p>“Is that the owner’s name?” Brienne’s voice was now sharp, the way it got when she was musing a path of action. </p>
<p>“I don’t think so,” Cleos chimed in. “Common family names—” </p>
<p>“Wait,” Jaime hurried to interrupt. “There’s a coat of arms here.” </p>
<p>Brienne jumped at this. “Can you make it out? Maybe they live nearby.” </p>
<p>“A man in the rain?” Jaime peered at the tag, tightening his grip on the goat’s snout to angle it better. “Oh. It has the words. ‘Our Blades are Sharp.’” </p>
<p>He looked over his shoulder with a grin. “Their blades might be sharp, but not their wits. Vargo is the stupidest na—” </p>
<p>The goat cried a sudden bleat of war. Shaking its head off Jaime’s grasp, it bit his hand with horrific passion.</p>
<p>On a blink, Jaime was back on his feet, dragging the goat with him. He heard Cleos screaming and Brienne shouting things he couldn’t quite stop to make out. Aware of his own shrieks, Jaime jiggled his hand vigorously, but the goat remained decidedly attached to it. Just when he was channeling his pain into anger, Brienne Tarth came to his rescue and tackled the goat from behind. </p>
<p>Holding it in place with her legs, she slithered her hands into its maw and forced the jaws open. Jaime fell back, cradling his right hand protectively against his chest. </p>
<p>Brienne then grappled with the goat, holding it by the neck as it tried to bolt. Her powerful embrace soon had them both on the ground, the goat’s chest heaving as it accepted defeat. </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” she gasped, staring at Jaime.</p>
<p>He gaped at the giantess who had just saved him.</p>
<p>“Coz?” Cleos touched his shoulder. </p>
<p>Jaime hurried to his feet. “I’m<em> fine.</em>” </p>
<p>“Cleos,” Brienne commanded. “Hoodie.”</p>
<p>With the commotion, Brienne’s sweater had been thrown in the air. Cleos picked it up and gingerly followed her instructions to tie it around the goat’s eyes and neck. Jaime tried his hardest to control his breathing, all the while with blood tainting his shirt. It was one of his best linen shirt, but at least it was red already. He’d worn it because Brienne once said she liked how it brought out his hair. </p>
<p>“Alright,” Brienne slowly released her grip. The goat turned its head one way and another in confusion, but it didn’t do anything violent. “Let’s go.”</p>
<p>Jaime watched as Brienne scooped the animal in her arms lifted. She ambled past him, all strained muscles and serene determination. She turned to speak over her shoulder. </p>
<p>“Are you staying here? Come <em>on</em>.” </p>
<p>Jaime shook his shoulders to ground himself, which made him wince. Cleos still stood by his side, patting his back. </p>
<p>“I’ll help you, coz,” he offered Jaime a hesitant arm. </p>
<p>Jaime sighed into the night. </p>
<p>“I hate road trips.”</p><hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>One year before</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>“You’re like a serving wench,” Jaime said, watching as Brienne Tarth balanced four binders of information on her arms. She dropped them on her small desk, which threatened now to never leave his office. </p>
<p>“A <em>wench</em>?” she mumbled, shaking her shoulders to release tension, the muscles of her back rippled in tow.“What century are you living in, doctor?”</p>
<p>She really did have a very impressive body, Jaime had to admit. Iron-tight strength below chunky soft sweaters. It gave the odd impression she’d be great at hugs. </p>
<p>Ignoring her question, he removed his computer glasses and closed his laptop. “Does Catelyn Stark pay you for all the extra work you do?” </p>
<p>The giantess pierced him with her absurdly blue eyes. </p>
<p>“<em>Doctor</em> Catelyn Stark has trusted me—”</p>
<p>“—with helping reshape Northern history, yeah I know. Do you know any other songs?”</p>
<p>Brienne squinted, as if considering a barb of her own. With a dismissive click of her tongue, she went back to stacking the increasing number of readings he’d found for her. Clutter grew around the desk and walls like a vine, but if she wanted every reference to the North in his museum, then she would damn get them. </p>
<p>She made a small sound of complaint when she glanced at her wristwatch, and Jaime smiled at his small success. Malicious compliance always worked like a charm.</p>
<p>He was almost finished packing his briefcase when she spoke again.</p>
<p>“Before you go, how’s the excavation going?” </p>
<p>Riverrun had been sieged and pillaged during the Long Night. Reconstruction had made some sections habitable with time, and eventually the museum had been built from that. There had been a surprising number of uncovered tombs and artifacts through the years, and they had recently figured out there was a secret basement in a ground-level room when adding new plumbing.</p>
<p>As maester curator—and bona fide Lannister in situ—Jaime had been happy to oversee the process. He kept things orderly, if only to spite people who thought he’d be shit at it. </p>
<p>People like Catelyn Stark. Or Brienne Tarth, Catelyn Stark’s bona fide spy in situ.</p>
<p>“It’s going perfectly,” Jaime put his hands in his pockets, aiming for the look of a man who thought his job was none of her business. “Thank you for your concern.”</p>
<p>“My concern is work-related,” Brienne glared. “Do you think you’ll be able to show me the books from Dorne? From the catalog, I think there may be—”</p>
<p>“Some of interest, <em>I know</em>,” Jaime sighed. They were accounts of the North by Dornish travelers, carried by the Sunspear Library. He’d snuck a request for them when he negotiated their lastest exchange. Not that Brienne had noticed, but he <em>was</em> a team player, after all. “I told you yesterday we could do that tomorrow. You forgot?”</p>
<p>Brienne blushed a deep red that began in her ears and disappeared below her sweater. Her freckles practically sparkled. Jaime watched in awe. He’d seen her do that for a year and it never became less fascinating. So much <em>variety</em> in one single face.</p>
<p>She grumbled, “It must have slipped my mind.”</p>
<p>“Brienne,” Jaime gave a step towards her. She hunched her shoulders with distaste. She disliked the familiarity of him using her birth name, so he did whenever he had a chance. “If you're going to use my museum as the headquarters for this Tully operation of yours, you should actually spend some budget on an assistant. Someone who can remind you when your appointments are. Things like that. I wouldn’t oppose it.”</p>
<p>Brienne glanced at the stack of information on her desk. He saw in her frown that, despite herself, she thought he had a point. </p>
<p>“I’ll leave you with that thought,” Jaime picked his briefcase. “Good night, Miss Tarth the serving wench.”</p>
<p>The woman made another sound of disapproval, and he took note of it in the corner of his brain dedicated to annoying her.</p>
<p>“Doctor Lannister,” Brienne called, just as he reached the door. “Have you considered what I told you about the armory hall?”</p>
<p>He had. She had suggested to fit a corner for children, where they could try scaled-down models of armor. She’d said they could add an interactive section to every major exhibition covering school-related topics. It was brilliant.</p>
<p>“I have,” Jaime nodded. “It’s brilliant. I’ll discuss it with the board next time.” </p>
<p>Brienne’s eyes widened, and for a second she looked as if she wanted to say something. She settled for nodding once in acknowledgment.</p>
<p>A couple of weeks after, it was Jaime’s turn to widen his eyes when he walked into their office and found Cleos Frey sitting across from Brienne’s desk. </p>
<p>That was as stark a contrast as any he’d seen. Cleos Frey, his cousin, incapable of original thought. Cleos Frey, who had followed every piece of advice he’d ever received about his career and ended up with none. Cleos Frey, who had been sent to the North to create some professional connections in vague hopes of contributing to the family legacy, and had ended up working for the Starks, of all people. Cleos Frey, sitting across from Brienne’s desk. No-nonsense, calculating, thorough Brienne. </p>
<p>Jaime considered if maybe he was in one of those practical jokes where a camera pops out of nowhere.</p>
<p>When they looked up at his entrance, Brienne frowned in annoyance. Cleos simply smiled.</p>
<p>“Hey, coz,” Cleos waved. “Dr Stark and Miss Tarth mentioned I’d be working close to you, but I didn’t know it would be <em>this</em> close.”</p>
<p><em>Ah</em>. Dr Stark. Of course. Jaime raised a knowing eyebrow at Brienne. She gave him half a shrug.</p>
<p>“Dr. Lannister, this is my new assistant, Cleos Frey.”</p>
<p>“Part-time,” Cleos nodded, his smile turning nervous. “For now.” </p>
<p>Jaime looked from Brienne to Cleos and then back at her again.</p>
<p>This would be insufferable. </p>
<p>“You’re both very welcome,” he grinned, and closed the door behind him.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Brienne slumped on the driver’s seat. With a sigh, she stretched over Jaime to reach the glove compartment. For a moment she brushed his knees, and she was so close he could smell her shampoo, and her perfume, and even her sweat. He was too aware of her warmth and swallowed.</p>
<p>The glove compartment was—of course—neatly stacked. Brienne Tarth excelled at many things, and one of those was having Girl Scout levels of preparedness. She extracted a bottle of hand sanitizer and a packet of wipes and proceeded to clean her hands with the same dedication she did before handling any of the historical artifacts at Riverrun. </p>
<p>Jaime watched in silence as she leaned over and retrieved a first aid kit below the seat. </p>
<p>“So,” she began, extending a palm for him to lay his on, alcohol and gauze ready in her other hand.</p>
<p>Jaime hesitated. </p>
<p>“I’m not a goat, Jaime,” Brienne gently teased. “I won’t bite.” </p>
<p>He lowered his eyes. His hand had started trembling and swelling. The pain extended along his arm, and he could feel the start of a headache too. Now she’d have to take care of it. Of <em>him</em>. He hated it. Hated all of it. How had everything gone so wrong? All he wanted was—</p>
<p>“Jaime,” Brienne’s voice was soft. Blinking his rage away, he looked up at her. Her eyes shone, even in the poor light, calm and good. </p>
<p>She deserved better than this.</p>
<p>He exhaled and placed his hand on hers. </p>
<p>The bite had scrunched his fingers and knuckles. Brienne tested each methodically, searching for broken bone. The bleeding had mostly stopped, and the marks weren’t as wide as they could have been, if you accounted for all the wiggling involved.</p>
<p>“Defeated by a goat,” Jaime chuckled ruefully. “I can’t fucking believe it.” </p>
<p>Brienne shrugged. “I can.”</p>
<p>“Tsk,” Jaime frowned in mock anger. “So harsh tonight, Brienne.”</p>
<p>“Speaking of...” Brienne pressed a gauze pad against his wound. </p>
<p>Jaime hissed and bit his other fist to stop a bigger scream from escaping.</p>
<p>“... this may sting a bit.” </p>
<p>She gave him her lopsided smile, the one she made when she knew she was making a joke at his expense.</p>
<p><em>Godsdammit, it works. </em>He had to smile back, the tension in his shoulders eased.</p>
<p>She cleaned with gentle but firm movements. It had occurred to him before that their hands were a similar size, but hers were bigger, with longer fingers. Jaime had spent more time than advisable looking at Brienne’s hands, but he couldn’t help it—He’d really, <em>really</em> hoped he would find a way to be holding at least one of her hands by Sunday without making it awkward. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he whispered, as Brienne dropped the bloodied gauze and began applying bandages. Her mouth thinned. “I wanted this weekend to be fun.” He threw his head back. “I’m a fucking clown.” </p>
<p>“Well,” Brienne finished and gave his hand a little pat. “It’s hopeless now. Officially. You’ve spent too much time around those kids.”  </p>
<p>Jaime chuckled and pressed his hand against his chest. “I’m sorry, was ‘clown’ too niche for you? If it weren’t for our MVP—AKA, you—my wig would’ve been fucking <em>snatched</em>.”</p>
<p>Brienne shook her head as gathered everything and put it away.</p>
<p>“Are you sure you’re using all those terms correctly?”</p>
<p>“Of course! I have a PhD.”</p>
<p>That made her laugh. </p>
<p>“Now that you’re done pouting,” she said, “we can find somewhere to sleep.” </p>
<p>“I wasn’t pouting,” Jaime corrected her, purely out of habit. “This is serious.” He feigned worry, waggling the bandaged limb. “What if I lose my hand?” </p>
<p>Brienne was checking her phone. “Don’t be so dramatic, it’s just a bite.” </p>
<p>He batted his eyelashes at her. “Will you still love me if I lose my hand?” </p>
<p>“Mother will still love you,” Cleos said from behind, helpfully. “You know you’re her favorite nephew.” </p>
<p>Brienne’s shoulders shook as she tried to suppress her laughter.  Jaime turned and glared. Cleos and Vargo the goat shared the backseat like good old chums. Maybe the damn beast would bite Cleos too. Jaime smiled at the thought.</p>
<p>“The closest inn is still an hour away,” Brienne announced, turning the car back on. “Let’s hope they have space.”</p>
<p>“Thank the gods,” Cleos yawned. “I’m so tired.” </p>
<p>“Maybe the goat is theirs,” Jaime said to Brienne. “But what if it isn’t? Will you need me to charm them into accepting it?”</p>
<p>“I’m sure they’ll have somewhere we can tie it up,” Brienne replied. “In the meantime,” she turned to Cleos, “do <em>not</em> let it bite the seats.”</p>
<p>“No, Miss Tarth.” </p>
<p>“The car’s a rental,” Jaime highlighted with fake lightness. “So be careful. The museum is paying our expenses and we can’t overload them.”</p>
<p>Brienne massaged the bridge of her nose. “The car’s mine, Jaime. You know that.”</p>
<p>“This is your car?!” Jaime gaped around him. “Brienne, this is a serious question. Are you poor?” </p>
<p>“Compared to you, everyone is.”</p>
<p>“Or just cheap?”</p>
<p>“<em>You’re</em> cheap.” </p>
<p>“You wound me,” he stared at the road ahead. “I<em> told </em>you we could take my car.” </p>
<p>“And risk more of your clowning? Hells, no.” </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <strong>Four days before</strong>
  </em>
</p>
<p>Brienne was already typing on her laptop when Jaime arrived that Monday morning. </p>
<p>“Hey-hey-hey,” he lilted and sat on the edge of her desk, hoping to appear alluring. At least, as alluring as anyone wearing khaki slacks could appear. She didn’t seem to notice them, choosing to squint at him with fake suspicion. “How are you today?” His eyebrows waggled. “Excited about making history?” </p>
<p>Her cheeks went bright pink, her smile rivaled the sun. “I can’t believe we’re actually reuniting them.”</p>
<p>Jaime allowed his own giddiness to take over. “Right? Gods, I get goosebumps when I remember.”</p>
<p>“I already began packing.”</p>
<p>“I already began making a travel itinerary.”</p>
<p>Brienne snorted. “What’s the to-do list? To drive for hours on end?”</p>
<p>“No, no,” Jaime used his hands to draw a square in the air. “The real thing. We’re going to <em>my</em> town, I’ll show you all the cool stuff on the way.”</p>
<p>“I dread to think what you think is cool.”</p>
<p>“Not my fault you get along with nerds.”</p>
<p>“You’re barely a nerd,” Brienne said. “You exercise too much.”</p>
<p>He threw his hands up. “What can I say? I exceed expectations.” </p>
<p>It was a perfectly placed cue, but Brienne didn’t take it. Instead, she rubbed her palms and took a deep breath. </p>
<p>“Speaking of that,” fingers tapped her desk. “I never thanked you. For your help. And everything. The Lannisters—.” </p>
<p>“Don’t even mention it,” Jaime dismissed it with a wave of his hand. “You heard my brother.” Tyrion was partially in charge of handling the family’s legal issues, and had wriggled himself into the process to be a helping hand. “Father would never have allowed it. <em>You</em> convinced<em> him</em>. I only sat in the meeting and like, nodded emphatically.” </p>
<p>Brienne made a gesture that wanted to be humble, failing in the most adorable way. </p>
<p>“I only had to promise to lend him Oathkeeper afterwards,” she grinned with a hint of crooked teeth.</p>
<p>“Now <em>that</em> is the real miracle, wench. Catelyn Stark allowing such a thing...”</p>
<p>Brienne’s expression turned firm and honest. “It’s worth it.” </p>
<p>“Yeah,” Jaime beamed. “<em>You</em> made her see that. It was great to witness it.”</p>
<p>Brienne blushed with the shade that took root when she was pleased, and Jaime was unable to look away. One of the curious things about Brienne Tarth, Jaime often told himself, was how easy it was to share quietness with her. </p>
<p>When she spoke, her voice was soft. </p>
<p>“It was great having you along,” she bit her lip and turned to her screen with a little smirk. </p>
<p>And even though it made him feel like a godsdammned teenager, Jaime walked all day on a cloud of good humor.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>When I published yesterday, I accidentally posted a shorter version of the first chapter. Just make sure you read the complete version before going into this one.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“A goat?” the teenager gave Brienne a crooked smile from behind the counter. </p><p>They were at The Crossbow’s lobby, an inn that looked more like a motel the more Jaime paid attention to the details. It seemed clean enough, but he wouldn’t risk using a UV light on any of the surfaces.</p><p>“Yes,” Brienne said. Jaime saw her shoulders rise and fall as she gathered herself. “As I was saying, we hit it. Do you know where to find the owner?” </p><p>“The Boltons, you say?” the teenager scratched an incipient beard. </p><p>Jaime grunted at the kid’s slowness. Brienne would say he didn’t have a right to be so impatient. After all, they <em>had</em> been driving for forty-five minutes when Jaime remembered the house the sigil belonged to. He had blurted out ‘Bolton!’ so suddenly loud Brienne had nearly driven them out of the road again.</p><p>“Yes,” Brienne said. “The Boltons.” </p><p>“How do you know it’s the Boltons?” the teenager continued, all curiosity.</p><p>Jaime walked to the counter with a groan. “Listen, uh—” he read the tag on the kid’s chest, “—Cole. The goat is marked with the Bolton sigil. It follows that it is, <em>at least</em>, Bolton-owned.”</p><p>Cole glanced at Jaime, then at Brienne, and seemed to find something amusing. “And where exactly<em> is</em> the goat?”</p><p>Both Jaime and Brienne pointed through the large front window. </p><p>“In the car.”</p><p>Cole followed their direction with a vaguely interested squint. Brienne’s blue car was right in front. It was distinct in the otherwise full parking lot because it was the only one with a grown man and a goat inside. Cleos was politely trying to shove the animal to its side of the backseat. The goat refused with a strong yelp. Cleos shushed it and looked up nervously. He startled when he found all three of them staring, and gave them an awkward wave.</p><p>Cole chuckled and turned to Jaime and Brienne. </p><p>“You <em>do</em> have a goat, guys. That’s lit.”</p><p>“Word,” Jaime drawled. “Do you know where we can find the owner? As my colleague here was saying,” he pointed at Brienne with his bandaged hand, “she would really like to return it.”</p><p> “Oh, wow,” Cole’s eyebrows rose. “What happened to you there?” His face broke in a cheeky smile. “Was it the goat?” </p><p>“Yes, it was the goat,” Jaime said through gritted teeth. He elbowed Brienne when a snicker threatened to escape her. “Now, do you know where they keep goats around here?”</p><p>“There’s Harrenhal,” Cole pointed somewhere south with a shrug. “But it’s closed for the day already, of course. They keep animals there. For accuracy.”</p><p>“Accuracy?” Brienne blinked. </p><p>“Yeah, for reenactments and stuff,” Jaime sighed. Harrenhal was on his itinerary. Had been. <em>Fuck</em>. He’d just thought Brienne would love to see the displays they had on weekends. She was dorky like that. “So it’s true? The Boltons bought it back?”  </p><p>“Exactly, sir,” Cole sniffed philosophically with the air of someone who had much better things to do. “Will you want a room?”</p><p>“Two,” Brienne said. “Can we tie the goat outside?”  </p><p>“Sure can, ma’m,” Cole clicked on his computer. “But it might be a bad idea, on account of the wolves.” </p><p>Jaime gaped, speechless at the change of subject.</p><p>“Wolves?” Brienne frowned.</p><p>“Yeah, ma’m. Wolves. They come out at night, mostly. On account of this being the woods and all.” Cole looked up at them. “They hunt rabbits and cats but sometimes goats and calves too, if they find them.”</p><p>Brienne leaned towards Jaime, highlighting the fact she was big and stern. “Well, we can’t just let it… get eaten by wolves.” </p><p>“Can’t we?” he quirked an eyebrow. Brienne rolled her eyes. “Listen, this is ridiculous. I bet those wolves seldom come around here, do they, lad?” </p><p>The teenager pointed to a sign behind the counter. It read «<em>Wolves howl and roam in the night, but inside you’ll be fine!</em>». It also had a cartoonish-looking wolf giving a thumbs up.</p><p>“Actually,” Cole bobbed his head, pleased with himself. “This inn came to be because travelers needed a safe space to rest from the wolves that settled in the area during the Long Night. This is a wildlife corridor. It’s all in the brochure.” </p><p>“This is insane,” Jaime whispered. </p><p>Brienne sighed. “Nevermind. I hit it. I can sleep in the car with the goat.” </p><p>“Nonsense,” Jaime shook his head and turned to Cole. “Do you allow pets?”</p><p>The teenager cleared his throat. “We allow assistance animals, sir.”</p><p>“That’s not—” Brienne began. </p><p>“Good.” Jaime took his wallet out and fumbled for a high-billed dragon that he handed to Cole. “This goat requires assistance. Can we agree on that?” </p><p>“<em>Jaime</em>,” Brienne took his arm to speak close to him. “This is not a travel expense. We can’t—”</p><p>“I will<em> not</em> have you sleeping in the car,” Jaime sounded more adamant than he intended, and Brienne blinked in confusion. “You’ll be all cranky tomorrow.” She frowned. “And I <em>definitely</em> won’t sleep in the car,” he waved his bandaged hand. “I’d have Cleos sleeping in the car if I knew for sure the wolves would eat him, but—”</p><p>“Jaime. I’m the one who wants to return the goat. We can’t charge it to the—”</p><p>“Did I say we would? This is pocket money,” he said it as smug as he could, and she gave him her best unimpressed scowl. “Tonight your goat can sleep tied to one of the beds, no problemo.”</p><p>They stared at each other. <em>Dared</em> each other. They always got like this, had done for months now. Almost like an old married couple. Once a kid at the museum had asked Jaime why his girlfriend was so tall, and his stomach had made some truly impressive somersaults he had not been expecting at the time. How the tables turned.</p><p>Cole cleared his throat. “Sir, m’am?” </p><p>Their gazes flicked back to him.</p><p>“There’s just another teeny tiny problem,” he said with chagrin. </p><p>“What?” Brienne narrowed her eyes.</p><p>“There’s only one room available.”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Two years before</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>Dr Catelyn Stark, neé Tully, contacted Jaime one afternoon and explained she had decided to push for a particular passion project of hers. She hadn’t called it a <em>passion project</em>, but still. </p><p>There were historical Northern pieces scattered across all of Westeros, she said, and the Winterfell Museum wanted them back. Dr Stark was also of the firm opinion that most artifacts were monopolized by the historical and political circles of King’s Landing anyways, and someone had to correct that.</p><p>Jaime, as maester curator of the Tully Museum of Armory and Defense, agreed wholeheartedly. He’d been fighting those monopolies himself for most of his career. </p><p>Brienne Tarth had been the price he’d paid for agreeing. </p><p>All six feet of Brienne Tarth arrived at Riverrun’s main hall bearing a scowl and exuding a sense of wounded pride that he found disconcerting. After he cleaned up his computer glasses to make sure her eyes were really <em>that</em> blue, she kindly dissipated any questions as to why her nose threatened to bump the chandelier.  </p><p>“Dr<em> Lannister</em>, I presume.” Her big mouth twisted in disgust, making her face even more unappealing. </p><p><em>Oh</em>. That made sense. Some assumed the worst when they learned his last name. After all, his father, Tywin Lannister, was, through the power of money, the gatekeeper of most historical resources at King’s Landing. Grudges ran deep and wide.</p><p>So he said, “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Tarth. I hear you’re an expert in the period of the Usurpers’ reign.” </p><p>He wasn’t fond of the term, but sensed Miss Tarth was the type to use it. She huffed. </p><p>“There were five kings in that period, doctor. But I suppose <em>some</em> people fixate on the murderers in their genealogy.”</p><p><em>Ah</em>. His father's knack for quoting their ancestors was also, to everyone’s tiredness, widely known.  Jaime gave her an innocent smile. </p><p>“I suppose. And do you like the view?” </p><p>Her shoulders hunched up as she ran a tentative glance around the room.</p><p>“The view?” </p><p>“From up there,” he ran his eyes deliberately along her tall frame. “In your high ground.” </p><p>She went so red it was almost purple. He tilted his head in a knowing gesture.  </p><p>“Now, if you’ll follow me,” he continued. “I’ll show you where your desk will be while we find you proper accommodations.” Jaime took her through a hallway. “Since Stark imposed her spy on me a little out of the blue—”</p><p>“I’m not a spy,” Brienne said, steel in her voice. </p><p>“Babysitter, then.”</p><p>“I’m a <em>historian</em>,” she croaked. “And I’m here to supervise <em>Doctor </em>Stark’s recollection project. Any quarters will do.”</p><p>“I’m sure her trust in my abilities has nothing to do with that,” Jaime grinned sweetly, gesturing around him. “Or that this is the <em>Tully</em> Museum.” If Jaime had gotten and kept his current job, it was thanks to the fact the board (mostly composed by Catelyn Stark’s relatives) believed in meritocracy.</p><p>“Your abilities are not my issue to discuss, Doctor,” she looked down on him. Literally. He was an inch or two shorter. She probably loved that already, judging by the revulsion in her grimace. “Though I’m certain Dr Stark had her reasons.”</p><p>“Of course,” Jaime drawled. What a sour, uptight creature this was. “She was explicit about you, though. You’re to get the best I can offer, as the special lady guest you are.” He glanced at her broad shoulders, her mannish clothes. Her blush returned with vigor. “And since I have to help with whatever you need—We’ll share an office for a bit. My apologies in advance.” </p><p>They passed by the exhibition dedicated to the small folk, where a young couple admired the dresses and aprons, protected behind glass cases.  </p><p>Waiting until they were out of earshot, Brienne spoke again with a voice so hard it could shatter a window. </p><p>“You will refer to me as <em>Miss</em> Tarth, Dr Lannister.”</p><p>“And you’ll refer to me as <em>Jaime</em>, please and thank you. Dr Lannister was my grandfather.”</p><p>“Certainly,” Brienne nodded in understanding. “I wouldn’t want to use a title I inherited either.”</p><p>Jaime’s eyebrows shot up.</p><p>“It’s been a while since anyone accused me of that.” To his face, at least. The giantess had guts, he had to give her that. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I earned every letter in my title.” He pointed left, and they strolled by the tapestries with badly drawn faces, the ones children loved to poke fun at. “It just makes me feel old, you understand.” </p><p>He took a second look at her, wondering if he had missed her name in any newer publications. He had maybe eight or ten years on her. If she was so unknown, she couldn’t be the prodigy Catelyn Stark claimed she was. </p><p>“That may have to do with your age, doctor,” Brienne cleared her throat and side-eyed his glasses. “Not your title.”</p><p>Not for the first time since, his retort got lost in the larger stone corridor.</p>
<hr/><p>“Put your back into it, Cleos,” Jaime encouraged from the bed. </p><p>Cleos puffed and pulled, but the goat remained at the door. </p><p>“A little…? Help…? Please?” </p><p>“In <em>my</em> state?” Jaime smiled at Cleos’ back as he strained the rope around the goat’s neck. Brienne had, unsurprisingly, had some spare in the back of her car. “Come on! Make Aunt Genna proud, coz.” </p><p>Cleos grunted as a response. Vargo the goat bleated in tow, baring its teeth. Jaime tapped a nervous foot on the floor. </p><p>Maybe sharing the room with the rudest goat in existence wasn’t the best idea he’d ever had, but Brienne would break her own back before risking the thrice-damned animal. </p><p>Luckily the room wasn’t fancy. Paper-thin walls, a thermostat, two beds... Pushing the nightstand to the end of the room would give everyone enough space, he reckoned. And if the goat disgraced itself on the carpet, well… <em>Cleos can clean it</em>, he nodded to himself. <em>Cole can buy a new one with what I paid anyway. </em></p><p>A grimace crawled its way to his face then. When he’d planned this whole thing, he’d searched for much nicer options—forest views, animal-shaped towels, things like that. He hadn't made any reservations just so Brienne could choose, but they were all written down in the list still sitting in his pocket.</p><p>He’d included many other things too, like the quick detour to the Isle of Faces, and stopping to see the sunset at the famous pools of Maidenpool. But that had been before Cleos, and the map fiasco, and Brienne insisting on returning the goat.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Brienne whisper-shouted as she arrived through the walkway. </p><p>“Cleos is making Aunt Genna proud,” Jaime replied, leaning forward so she could see his grin. </p><p>A red-faced Cleos nodded and attempted, yet again, to adjust the rope without touching Vargo too much. Jaime relished the fact his cousin  made a fist in fear every time the animal tilted its head. </p><p>“Here,” Brienne nudged the goat’s hind legs with her thighs. “I’ll help you.” </p><p>In a blink, the goat was inside.</p><p>“We did it, Miss Tarth!” Cleos stood as tall as he was and beamed with so much earnestness Jaime indulged him with a thumbs up. Heaving a satisfied sigh, Cleos flopped on the mattress next to him.</p><p>“Finally we can have some rest, Jaime. I really need it.”</p><p>Jaime gave Cleos’ belly a series of quick, patronizing pats. </p><p>“We still need to tie the goat up.” </p><p>Cleos groaned.</p><p>“Jaime’s right,” Brienne locked the door behind her. Jaime opened his mouth to make a joke about first times, but closed it when she strode in his direction and towered over him. “Let’s just get your hand clean first.” </p><p>Jaime liked this vantage point. He liked that he could keep glancing up, and up, and up, and there was still so much of her to see. Even if Brienne was too busy rummaging a different first aid kit, a kit Jaime was sure she had coerced from Cole.</p><p>“You already fixed me up,” Jaime jerked his chin towards the goat. “We should tuck Vargo into bed first.” </p><p>Brienne’s eyes followed his direction. The animal had laid down on the carpet, nostrils flaring. Both eyes and horns were still neatly covered by Brienne and Jaime’s hoodie. </p><p>Her soft smile was tired.</p><p>“I can’t believe this is a work trip,” she said, as she reached down to place the open kit behind Jaime. She took his bandaged hand, and this time he didn’t resist. Slowly, methodically, she undid her previous work. Gentle as ever. “I’ve never heard of anything more disastrous.” </p><p>“Well,” Jaime winced when his hand was revealed. Though the inflammation had receded, there were all sorts of purple bruised spots now. “You’ve heard of <em>me</em>.” </p><p>“Outliers don’t count,” Brienne agreed, and pointed at the bathroom. “Will you need help?”</p><p>Jaime wanted to say yes, just to see what she would do. Instead, he smirked and clambered over the goat to get to the door. Cramped and weirdly squared—<em>Like everything in this trip so far</em>, Jaime sighed—the bathroom at least had soap and towels. When he returned, Brienne was still waiting by the bed, so he sat back where he had been.</p><p>“I <em>will</em> grant you, though,” Jaime hissed as she coated the wound with antibacterial spray, and she brushed her thumb against his palm to soothe it. “I didn’t expect we’d get a kid so soon.” </p><p>Brienne barked a pained laugh. </p><p>“Not even here,” she applied fresh bandages. “In your convalescence. You’ll never spare me your sense of humor.” </p><p>“You love my sense of humor,” Jaime gritted his teeth as Brienne clipped it all together. “Keeps things interesting.” </p><p>“Tiresome, you say? Agreed.”</p><p>“At least I don’t make you fall asleep,” Jaime looked at the man by his side. Cleos’ jaw dangled ever so slightly with his breath, dead to the world like a log. “Brienne, you have no idea how he was. Sleepovers at Aunt Genna’s were the worst.” </p><p>“It couldn’t be that bad,” Brienne sniffed her sleeves and pulled a face. “Right now all I can think of is a bath, though.” </p><p>Brienne was ragged, dirty, and exhausted. And still Jaime’s brain rushed to paint a very clear image of her in a hot shower, and all the interesting things to explore in there. They had gone swimming once, and Jaime had learned a hard lesson about himself. He really needed to do something about it. </p><p>He opened his mouth to talk when Cleos stirred at his side. </p><p>Jaime didn’t even faze this time. For a year he’d been avoiding as much of his cousin as he could, and it had only taken him a road trip to acclimatize to his ways. What a shame.</p><p>“... bathroom, Miss Tarth,” Cleos slurred. </p><p>“What’s that?” Brienne asked her assistant, trying to hide the tug at her lips.</p><p>“Goat. Bathroom,” Cleos sat up with effort. “For the night.” </p><p>Brienne shook her head at the same moment Jaime spoke. “No way.”</p><p>“I want to keep it where I can see it,” Brienne explained.</p><p>“And I don’t want to pee with the goat staring at me,” Jaime added, jumping off the mattress. “Cleos, why don't you tie it to one of the beds? I’ll get us dinner.”</p><p>Brienne raised an eyebrow at him. “You won’t try to get a RavenEats this far out, will you?”</p><p>Jaime stood as proud as he could. “Maybe. Maybe I’ll go hunting. Give me the car keys and you’ll find out.” </p><p>“Right.” Brienne appraised him up and down. “I needed to get my luggage, anyway. Let’s see what you hunt from the car.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Apparently there are only 12 fics that have Cleos as a tag, so I'm happy to contribute to the fanclub!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>what's a road trip for if no one shares the bed?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>Seven months before</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>Running together had fallen into place like everything else. </p><p>They already danced around each other in the tiny office all day (apparently circadian rhythms had a sense of humor), navigated each other’s arguments as if they sparred with steel (Brienne was a vicious debater, she dropped sources the way anyone else would give away Tic-Tacs), and avoided each other when they chose the same spot at the library (the colored-glass window cast a warm light).</p><p>So maybe Jaime should not have been surprised when he found Brienne running along the Trident, ponytail bobbing up and down. It was weird seeing her in tight leggings and a worn-out uni T-shirt, but judging by the way her eyebrows shot up at his shorts and tank-top, she was just as confused.</p><p>Jaime hadn’t planned falling into pace with her, but they had similar heights, and neither of them wanted to give up the riverbank. When it became apparent they would be trotting side by side, looks were exchanged, and a truce made. </p><p>They both had been in the same budgeting meeting. They both had scurried out as soon as they could. They could do this one time.</p><p>Of course, it turned out not to be only one time.</p><p>It was funny, Jaime reflected. At the museum, they rarely stopped bickering. Here, with trainers and ragged breaths, they seldom said a word at all.</p><p>Before either of them noticed, they grew used to sneaking out at the end of a long day to traverse trails and roads. </p><p>Jaime didn’t complain. He discovered that he found her company… stimulating. If he pushed for a longer distance, she pushed for a faster pace. If he chose a hilly route, she went for a rocky path. If he did squats after a run, she would do push-ups, silently daring him to match her. </p><p>It was a good arrangement.</p><p>In exchange, he showed her around. He first followed her through the routes she had already been using, and then he steered her into his own favorites, with better views of the nearby forests, the riverbank itself, and the castles. She clearly enjoyed the pretty sights, as she would choose some of those trails in their following runs. </p><p>She still favored the flower fields, though. It was strangely delicate, to see the giantess in monochromatic shirts and practical shoes, breezing through so much color. One time, they stopped for a breather in the middle of a field of daisies. When she thought he wasn’t looking, she bent down and, gentling an enormous hand, she picked one, an odd little smile dancing in her lips.</p><p>The next day Jaime made a point of making space for a second bottle of water in his cooler, which he kept hidden in a closet in their office. She nodded gratefully. </p><p>Their routes went farther and faster after that. They ended up so sweaty and gross Jaime proposed adopting a drawer exclusively for clean clothes. When she raised her doubts, he claimed his high levels on Tetris had prepared him for fitting things in tidily. She rolled her eyes but agreed. She punched his shoulder when he suggested they were both winning anyways, since they could exchange clothes. He pretended it didn’t hurt.</p><p>Brienne was strong. Amazingly so. She had been made by the gods to instill terror upon the hearts of men. More than once, a creep would leer at her, or whistle, and Jaime would see her whirl on her heels and threaten the perpetrator with the full force of an aurochs before Jaime had even finished turning. </p><p>“I figure you don’t have a sweetheart somewhere, do you?” he asked half in mockery, after one such remark on the road was almost met with one of her upper-cuts. “Is sweet even your style?”</p><p>Brienne glared at him as they climbed a hill, the pink in her cheeks changing to red. </p><p>“Not my thing,” she grunted. </p><p>She rarely replied to his personal questions, however many he asked. His brain <em>dinged!</em> with curiosity. </p><p>“No special men?” he said, his tone light. “Or women?” </p><p>“No, nothing like that.” </p><p>She pressed forward, leaving him behind. Jaime narrowed his eyes and watched her go, a marble monument to efficiency and the economy of movement. </p><p>“Yeah,” he hummed. “I get it.”</p><p>Brienne stopped in her tracks, spoke over her shoulder.  </p><p>“You don’t.”</p><p>“I do,” he insisted, breaking into a trot and passing her by. “It’s not my thing, either.” </p><p>Brienne scoffed. “<em>Please</em>. Everyone looks at you like—”</p><p>She cut herself off, so Jaime turned with an arched eyebrow. She was so red he couldn’t help a knowing grin. </p><p>“What? Everyone looks at me like what?” </p><p>Brienne’s blush couldn’t get any deeper as her eyes roamed him, with swift stops at his face, his torso, his calves. </p><p>“You <em>know.</em>”</p><p>“Do I?”</p><p>“Piss off,” Brienne spat. She was angry enough that she added, “Everyone wants you.”</p><p>He crossed his arms, challenging her.  </p><p>“Everyone?” </p><p><em>Not you</em>, he wanted to say, but fire had sparked in her eyes.</p><p>“<em>Yes</em>,” she slammed the word. “Yes. Anyone would. You can’t know what it’s like to be… like me.”</p><p>Jaime deliberately returned the once over, noting her jaw, her biceps, her thighs. She squirmed under his eyes, but forced herself to stand tall. She made herself as insurmountable as a wall, and would never let him bring her down. </p><p>“Maybe not<em> exactly </em>like you, Brienne the Wench,” Jaime admitted, trying to make his tone more soothing. “But I get the other part. The staying away. It’s alright, it’s all I’m saying.”  </p><p>He made an attempt to restart the race, but Brienne’s voice stopped him, tense and soft all at once.</p><p>“It’s not <em>alright</em>,” she said. “We live in two completely different worlds, Doctor. Don’t pretend you understand.”</p><p>It was so very much like Brienne to never let a conversation end peacefully.</p><p>“What I <em>understand</em> is that it doesn’t make any sense,” he snapped, anger tainting his voice again. “To try. They never <em>see</em>, they see… I don’t know. Something else. Whatever it is <em>they</em> want to see.” He pointed at himself. “A brainless pretty face.” Then at her. “A beast of burden. It’s never fair.”</p><p>Brienne blinked twice. He could almost sense the gears turning in her head. </p><p>Taking a sip of his water, Jaime chastised himself for speaking so openly. Always making him wait for an answer, this Brienne Tarth. This damn woman always succeeded in riling him up. She had been forced upon him and his office, had been poking her nose everywhere, prodding and antagonizing and so godsdammed <em>exasperating</em>. </p><p>And the worst part was that <em>it made sense</em>. She was a pig-headed, morally upright, ugly woman. She jumped to conclusions, defended herself at the slightest hint of provocation. She had to. But the shtick always grew weary. It clung to a person like a cloak. Marked them.</p><p>Both their breaths were heavy while they watched the other. She opened her mouth, closed it again. Jaime rubbed his face.</p><p>“Wanna go back now?” he asked her, trying again for a soothing tone. He began the descent back to the museum. “I have an appointment early tomorrow, and you have that meeting.”</p><p>When he reached her, she looked down on him, eyes narrowed as she assessed him. He squared his shoulders and stared back. They were so close he could still feel her warmth even with the cool breeze around them. </p><p>“It’s alright,” he nodded, his tone calm. </p><p>He wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but her expression eased, as if she had just resolved something. She took a deep breath and shifted on her feet. </p><p>“It never is.” Her voice was such a fragile thing, Jaime marveled. It could belong in a crystal case. “They never<em> see</em>.”</p><p>He searched her face. Her mouth was big, her nose crooked, her skin blotchy. It scrunched up in anger at other people’s incompetence, it lit up when she saw a dog or a cat, it softened when she read her favorite books. It was the most honest face Jaime knew. </p><p>“No,” he agreed. “They wouldn’t.” </p><p>“Most men won’t even take a second look, and women…” Brienne paused, choosing her words carefully. “Women are not… an option.” </p><p>The sunset danced in her hair, her expression guarded, ready to knock the air out of his chest if he broke any of the words she had given him.</p><p>“It’s alright,” he repeated, his gaze never wavering hers. The blue in her really lit up this close. “Most men are cunts. You would know. You work with me.” </p><p>There was a sparkle in her eyes, as if he had done something interesting. Whatever she saw, she simply gave him a short smile, and heeled around on the way to the museum. </p><p>“Men and women have tried, you know?” He added as they strode down the path. “With me. No one stuck.” </p><p>Brienne hummed, deep in thought. “I can’t fathom why.”</p><p><em>There she is</em>. Jaime rolled his eyes. </p><p>“What a funny wench. Here I am, opening my heart to you…”</p><p>“Your heart? Or your mouth?”</p><p>Jaime smirked, his chest lighter. He knew this dance much better. </p><p>“Sweetling, if I were opening my mouth to you, you’d<em> know</em>.”</p><p>“Piss off,” Brienne spat, and sprinted down the hill. </p><p>Jaime barked a laugh and hurried behind her. </p>
<hr/><p>The cooler was trapped under more stuff than he remembered. The space inside Brienne’s car seemed to shrink by the minute, it was getting ridiculous.</p><p><em>This whole thing is ridiculous</em>. Jaime shouldered his way below one of Cleos’ bags to reach the red container.</p><p>“Need help?” Brienne offered somewhere behind him.</p><p>“It’s all Gucci,” Jaime grunted. He grasped the handle and pulled. The packages around it fell neatly into place, a vindication for all those hours he invested in Tetris. With a triumphant smile, Jaime stretched his arms towards Brienne. “Ta-da!”  </p><p>She lifted the lid and grinned at the wrapped sandwiches inside. </p><p>“Impressive, Dr Lannister,” she teased. “You sneaked in food.”</p><p>“They’re ham,” Jaime replied in the same tone. “I couldn’t possibly keep sardines for long in there.” </p><p>“I’m sure you mourned that loss,” Brienne held the cooler for Jaime to take one, then placed it on top of the car. “But I guess we’ll survive.” </p><p>She bent down, found her carry-on, and, in one swift movement, got it out. </p><p>“Now you’re just flexing,” Jaime drawled, unwrapping his dinner and leaning against the car’s door. </p><p>He didn’t want to go to their room, not yet. The night was peaceful. Even though the dumpster was only steps away, and he was<em> certain</em> there were noises coming from one of the neighboring windows, the breeze was refreshing. The soft blue moonlight was pretty. There were even a couple of stars out. </p><p>“I explained this already,” dropping her luggage at her feet, Brienne took a sandwich and leaned next to him. “It can’t be flexing if it’s not meant to impress.”</p><p>“Well, <em>I’m</em> impressed,” Jaime prodded on, chewing on his food “I’m impressed you thought not packing any food was a good idea.”</p><p>“Eating on the road makes sense! It’s about <em>space</em>.”</p><p>“Oh, if only Cleos hadn’t come…” </p><p>“You would’ve looked at the map?”</p><p>“We would’ve had fun.”</p><p>Brienne chuckled around her mouthful of sandwich.</p><p>“Bringing Cleos makes sense too,” she shook her head. “When Dr Stark suggested it yesterday I thought, why not? It’s not like—Well.” She took another bite. “It’s another pair of eyes on the sword, help with the documentation… It makes sense.”</p><p>“But?”  Jaime raised an eyebrow at her. At his tone she glanced down at him. Yellow light poured from the lobby’s front window, and her blush took an orange quality from it.</p><p>“But yes,” she admitted softly. “Probably.” </p><p>“Huh,” Jaime swallowed more of his sandwich, trying to sound casual. “Were you looking forward to spending some bonding time with yours truly?”</p><p>“Well,” she bit her lip and glanced at her feet, fidgeting with her food. “We haven’t seen each other much these days. And you study the area, you know <em>some </em>stuff. I thought it’d be… entertaining. Doing this with you. Even if you’re, you know. Exasperating.” </p><p>Jaime’s brain felt like the equivalent of at least eight exclamation points. </p><p>“Brienne Tarth,” Jaime turned to face her, elbow propped on the car. “Are you saying that you miss me?”</p><p>“Gods, Jaime,” Brienne crossed her arms.</p><p>“You <em>are</em>.”</p><p>She groaned. “Forget it. You can’t even take a—” </p><p>“I knew you liked me,” Jaime pressed a playful finger in her ribs. She pretended not to smile.</p><p>“Now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves…” </p><p>“Jury’s still out?” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p><em>Say it</em>, his brain screamed. <em>Say it! </em></p><p>Jaime licked his lower lip and swallowed. </p><p>“If it’s worth anything,” he spoke slowly, hoping to sound serious. “I miss you too.”</p><p>She threw him a disbelieving look, and then tensed up so fast he feared she might be having a stroke. Maybe he <em>did</em> look honest enough. </p><p>“I mean it,” he continued. Glancing up to the night sky, he turned so they were again shoulder to shoulder. “I’ve missed you.” Deep inhale, fast exhale. “And I <em>will</em> miss you, you know? When you’re done with…. everything.” Jaime wanted to groan. He was so fucking bad at this, why was his voice trembling? “It’s—It’s why I insisted on this car trip. To… to be with you. To talk to you.”</p><p>Several breaths came and went without a word, and Jaime’s mind raced. Too late. Too lame. Too cryptic. <em>Toolatetoolametoocryptic</em>. What the fuck was he even prattling on about?</p><p>Brienne’s silences were like her blushes. She could hold entire conversations with them.</p><p>“I mean, I just wanted us to have a good time,” he hurried to explain, his stomach twisted, chest tight. “We’ve had fun before, haven’t we? ” He hated how pleading he sounded, but he forced himself to lower his gaze from the sky to her. </p><p>Brienne closed her eyes, her voice a thread. “Jaime…” </p><p><em>She hates this</em>. Jaime’s stomach sank. <em>I hate this. </em>Anger rose to his throat. <em>Just shut up already</em>, he scolded himself. </p><p>“And it’s all fucked now, isn’t it?” Jaime found himself saying, carding his fingers through his hair. “We’re eating sandwiches in a parking lot. We hit a goat, for fuck’s sake.”</p><p>“We did,.” Brienne agreed, exhausted and pensive. </p><p>Jaime should’ve known better than to bother her. Of course she didn’t think of him that way. Of course she would think it would be weird. He wanted to kick himself. He’d just thought—</p><p>“It’s in our room.” </p><p>“What?” Jaime returned his attention to her. </p><p>“I’m just thinking,” she repeated, slowly. “We hit a goat. And it’s in our room.”</p><p>They shared a look. Their pained expressions slowly transformed into smirks. When laughter barked out of her, Jaime followed. </p><p>“Gods,” Brienne massaged her temple.”You convince me of traveling by car, and we hit a goat.”</p><p>“Hey, the goat’s not <em>my</em> fault,” Jaime gave her a meaningful frown, and amusement crept again in her eyes. “I didn’t plan for <em>that</em> to happen.”</p><p>She rose to his challenge—literally—looming two inches higher than him.</p><p>“We <em>also</em> got lost.”</p><p>Jaime turned fully to face her, his eyes squinted.</p><p>“I didn’t plan for Cleos happening either.”</p><p>Brienne made a sound that was half a guffaw, half a grunt. “All of this happened<em> because of you</em>.”</p><p>It was a perfectly placed cue. </p><p>Jaime didn’t take it.</p><p>“I know,” he agreed with a sigh. He attempted to toss the last bit of his sandwich into the dumpster with his left hand, and failed spectacularly. It was that kind of night. “I should’ve looked at the map. I’m sorry. It’s been a mess.” Reaching into his pocket, Jaime produced the crumpled piece of paper where he had printed his notes. He smoothed it out on a leg, as best he could. “So much for having a plan, huh?”</p><p>“It’s a work trip,” Brienne, never to waste food, finished her meal to the last crumbs. The resignation in her voice pulled something in Jaime’s ribs. “It was never meant to be a holiday.” </p><p>Jaime nodded to himself, his head reeling as if a mountain had toppled over him. At least he knew now where they stood—She’d move on. And he wasn’t coming with. </p><p>Maybe they could still be friends, he reasoned. Brienne would allow it, she was kind like that.</p><p>Looking down at the list on the paper, it all seemed so stupid. </p><p>“I just assumed that if we had a little time... ” Whatever he was going to say, it caught in his throat. </p><p>“Jaime?” Her timber had changed so suddenly Jaime looked around, half expecting a feral wolf to appear out of nowhere. But she was pointing at his hands. “What’s that?”</p><p>“The itinerary,” he frowned, handing it to her. </p><p>Brienne held it up to use the light from the lobby window.</p><p>“Jaime, this is very detailed,” she squinted. “All the way to King’s Landing. And back.”</p><p>“I know, wench,” Jaime tried to decipher what she meant. “I wrote it. I was younger then,” he quipped. “Hopeful. Goat-less.”</p><p>“No, no, no,” Brienne shook her head. “I mean… Was it real? There was really an itinerary? For this weekend?”</p><p>Jaime’s heart was pounding, his mind spinning. “Well, I meant it to be.”</p><p>Brienne’s face contorted. It was all sharp and dangerous. </p><p>“Why didn’t you tell me about it?” </p><p>Anger flared in Jaime. “I <em>did</em>. Several times.” His eyebrows shot up at her disbelief. “Did you think I was joking?”</p><p>She glared down at him, questions she didn’t want to ask twinkling behind her eyes. </p><p>“This is a work trip,” she repeated. She spoke slowly, like she needed to taste something in her own words.</p><p>“Yes,” he nodded. “And?”</p><p>“I’m retrieving Widow’s Wail from King’s Landing,” Brienne continued. “I’m bringing it to Riverrun, so we can transport it to the North.”</p><p>“Brienne,” Jaime closed his eyes and exhaled. “I don’t follow.”</p><p>With a grunt, she shuffled around, almost tripping on her own luggage. </p><p>“What did you expect from this, exactly?” </p><p>She shook the paper, her voice an accusation.</p><p>“<em>I told you</em>,” he waved his hands in the air, willing her to make sense. “I wanted to spend time with you. Talk. I don’t know.”</p><p>Her eyes narrowed. “Talk about what?”</p><p>Jaime gaped. “<em>Us</em>.” </p><p>She couldn’t not know. He had<em> just </em>told her. </p><p>Brienne gaped back at him.</p><p>“Us?” Her eyes widened like saucers, all anger and confusion gone. “Jaime. I didn’t—I never. I—”</p><p>She was flustered, mumbling, lost. Jaime wanted desperately to fix it, what had he—</p><p>
  <em>Oh. </em>
</p><p>It was worse than he’d thought. </p><p>She hadn’t even understood what he meant.</p><p>He was a fool. </p><p>“It’s fine,” he grabbed the cooler unceremoniously. “No need to talk about it.”</p><p>He turned to leave. Through the lobby window, he saw Cole snapping his attention back to his computer, a pair of pink spots on his cheeks. </p><p>“Great,” Jaime snarled, and strode back to their room. </p><p>Brienne’s footsteps followed. </p><p>“Jaime.”</p><p>“It’s fine,” he repeated, balancing the cooler with one leg to open the door. He wouldn’t stand her pity. He <em>couldn’t</em>.</p><p>“Please, Jaime.” Her voice was distant again, she struggled with her suitcase.</p><p>Humiliation prickled at his eyes, so he ignored her. </p><p>Cringing at his own shame, Jaime stormed inside, only to find Cleos snoring on one of the beds, and Vargo the goat asleep on the other. </p><p>Brienne reached Jaime, placing a hand on his shoulder. He heard her sharp intake of breath, and then when she held it, realizing what had happened.  </p><p>Like Jaime had requested, Cleos had tied the goat to the foot of the bed. Being the responsible assistant he was, Cleos had left enough rope loose so Vargo could wiggle around and not choke. This way, he ensured Brienne could return the animal in pristine condition. </p><p>This also meant, however, that it had enough freedom to jump onto the mattress.</p><p>When they turned to exchange another look in the dark, Brienne made an exasperated gesture. Jaime… Jaime had exactly two inches of patience left. </p><p>Dropping the cooler next to Brienne’s luggage, he crawled over the mattress and shook the goat’s leg. </p><p>“Off with you!” he whispered. “Shoo!”</p><p>A puff of air went out the goat’s nostrils and its head snapped up, teeth bared. Jaime yanked back and tripped on his heels, only to be caught by Brienne. </p><p>“Careful,” she warned in his ear.</p><p>Jaime growled at the goosebumps spreading in his skin. “I’ll wake Cleos. He can move it.”</p><p>“Look at him,” Brienne pointed at Jaime’s cousin, hugging a pillow like it was a teddy bear. “We can’t do that. It would be cruel.” </p><p>Jaime placed his bitten hand between them. “<em>This</em> is cruel. Cleos should fix his mistakes.” </p><p>Applying the same technique he used on the goat, Jaime swore and shook, but Cleos only purred and tightened his grasp on the pillow.</p><p>“This can’t be happening,”  Jaime muttered to himself, a mortification and rage taking cycles in his chest.</p><p>“Jaime, don’t bother,” Brienne was at the bedside table, holding up a bottle of sleeping pills.</p><p>“Where the hells did he get that?” Jaime whisper-shouted.</p><p>“First-aid kit,” Brienne placed the pills back on the table. “Jaime, it doesn’t matter. I can sleep with the goat.” </p><p>On cue, both glanced over their shoulders at the other bed. Vargo sprawled on the sheets, as if it belonged there by birthright.</p><p>“No,” Jaime said solemnly. “What if it bites your nose? Or your ear?”</p><p>“If it tries to bite me, I’ll bite it back, I don’t care.” Brienne gave a step forward. Jaime put himself in her way.</p><p>“You need to rest.” Anger made his words crack. “Share the bed with Cleos. I’ll take the carpet.”</p><p>“You’re hurt.” </p><p>“My hand’s hurt, not my ass. I can handle the floor.”</p><p>“It’s <em>unhygienic</em>,” as if to prove her point, she scratched her heel on the carpet. A hint of dust perfumed the room. “If you catch something, I wouldn’t hear the end of it.”</p><p>Jaime rubbed his face, wishing he could will the exhaustion away. It had been a long day. The longest day.</p><p>“Then there’s only one thing left to do.”</p><p>Tactics were of utmost importance, but Jaime had spent many an hour rearranging caskets, swords, and armor in glass cases smaller than a bed. He could handle three adults. </p><p>Brienne took the left, facing Cleos’ back. Covering him with a blanket, she sat on top by his side. At the shift in weight, Cleos half-articulated something about goats in his sleep, which for some reason annoyed Jaime more than the actual proceedings. </p><p>Jaime’s side was where most of Cleos was, which gave him less space to maneuver. Inch by inch, Jaime gentled Cleos’ hands open and slipped the pillow off his arms. </p><p>His cousin gave a short snore and nuzzled the mattress. </p><p>Satisfied with the result, Jaime pushed Cleos’ shoulder towards Brienne until he was on his side. She held him in place, and Jaime hurried to take the free space next to his cousin. At Jaime’s signal, Brienne let him go, and Cleos reclaimed a more contained version of his original position with barely a whimper of acknowledgment. </p><p>Grunting, Jaime wiggled further up against the wall to get away from Cleos’ breath, and once he was settled, Jaime heaved the biggest sigh he could muster.</p><p>Brienne’s head popped behind Cleos’ elbow. Her straw-like hair was framed by the faint blue light from the window. She managed to look tentative and gentle. </p><p>“Are you alright?” Her voice was low again, soft.</p><p>“Yes,” Jaime raised his bandaged hand. “You?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Good.” </p><p>She hesitated a moment, finally leaning back. Silence fell between them.</p><p>It made him itch, that silence. It was too deliberate. Awkward. They had had silence of all kinds before—combative, amicable, playful. But never this. </p><p>With a growl, Jaime removed his cousin’s wandering hand from his chest.</p><p>He should never have said anything in the first place. Now she’d try to coddle his feelings, and the last thing he wanted was—</p><p>“Shit,” Brienne broke the stillness. “I didn’t even shower.”</p><p>The ceiling stared down on them. Jaime could make out the shadows of holes and damp on the squares, and seeing them made him tired. So very, very tired.</p><p>He closed his eyes to reply.</p><p>“It’s alright. It’s been an eventful day.”</p><p>As if in agreement, Vargo snored from the other bed.</p><p>“Well,” Brienne sighed. “At least <em>some</em> of us will rest.”</p><p>“The goat doesn’t deserve it,” Jaime murmured. “We should have left it out for the wolves.”</p><p>Brienne spoke in a grim tone. “I bet the wolves wouldn’t want it either.” </p><p>“I bet not even the owners want it,” he glanced at the black mass atop the second bed. “It’s a felon. A criminal. <em>Goat-victed</em>.”  </p><p>The stillness lasted a minute. Then the bed began shaking, little by little, with the strength of Brienne’s laughter. Jaime propped himself up to see her covering her mouth with her hand, in an attempt to stifle the sound. He clicked his tongue at her in disapproval.</p><p>“That was awful,” Brienne whispered in a high-pitch, searching his gaze. </p><p>He gazed right back at her. He heard her swallow. </p><p>“Today’s been a lot,” she whispered.</p><p>Jaime nodded. </p><p>“At least we’re getting rid of that nuisance tomorrow.”</p><p>“Don’t call Cleos that,” Brienne mock-scolded him, and Jaime smiled tiredly at her quip. </p><p>They were still staring at each other. </p><p>Jaime’s stomach had forgone the knots and convulsed now like the sea, his hand trembling. </p><p>There was a witty remark somewhere in this, he knew. About how this was the most exposed he had ever felt. That it happened here, of all places—sandwiching his cousin with Brienne Tarth, in wolf-ridden country.</p><p>But if he had the choice, he’d never leave. Not when she was looking at him like this, in the dim light, like either of them would split if they took a wrong turn.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Brienne shuffled closer. Her chin almost touched Cleos’ ear. Jaime leaned forward, braced himself for what she would say.</p><p>“You included Harrenhal,” her words were careful. “On the list. You included Harrenhal, I saw.”</p><p>He didn’t want to think about it, but—</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Jaime shrugged. </p><p>“They have fairs during the weekend. I thought you’d like that.”</p><p>Brienne nodded, thoughtful. “I would.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>With some rustling of sheets, Brienne produced Jaime’s paper from somewhere in her pants. She held it like it contained some delicate secret. </p><p>“I still want to understand something. Is that okay?”</p><p>Jaime shifted so his arm would be more comfortable above his cousin’s head.</p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>“You made a whole thing out of... this,” she gestured all around them. “Why?”</p><p>In the dark, her eyes were weary, but warm. Calm. He considered shrugging it off, making a joke. </p><p>“I wanted to do something special for you.”</p><p>She nodded, more for her sake than his. A flock of hair escaped from its place and fell over her face. </p><p>“Why?” she repeated, even softer this time.</p><p>“I wanted—” He cut himself short. Gods, he really wasn’t any good at this. “Brienne. I—I mean, when we first met, I had no idea how it would be. What you would do. To the museum.” Stretching his hand, he tucked the strand of hair behind her ear. “To me.” </p><p>Brienne shivered at his touch, but didn’t recoil.</p><p>He continued, his voice quivering. </p><p>“I just wanted to tell you. You mean the world to me.” He swallowed. “And I...”</p><p>“... Yeah?”</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>Brienne’s breath caught. Jaime’s heart thumped on his ears at an alarming rate. He’d said it, <em>he’d said it</em>. She stood there, still, a palm away from him, and he’d said it. He tried to read her, but her face was a kaleidoscope. There was wonder, confusion, novelty, fear.  The expressions flashed and mixed.</p><p>“You love me,” she repeated. </p><p>“Yes.” </p><p>He said it again! He thought he never would, maybe he should’ve just—</p><p>“And you wanted to tell me,” Brienne continued, “by taking me to a fair with goats?” </p><p>Jaime blinked. There was so much fondness in her voice, it was impossible for him not to smile.</p><p>“When you put it like that…”  He could feel a snicker wiggling in his throat. </p><p>“Makes you think, huh?” She giggled, pleased and excited. Then, more seriously. “I was… confused. Earlier. I never thought—I had no idea. You surprised me.”</p><p>She hadn’t bolted for the hills yet, Jaime told himself. Maybe she didn’t mind <em>that</em> much.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to,” he shook his head. “Maybe I should have remembered who I was talking to.”</p><p>Brienne leaned even closer, their noses almost touching. There was a sweet smile tugging at the corner of her lip.</p><p>Dizzy. He was dizzy. This was new territory, right here, could barely contain himself. He looked into her eyes, aware, so aware. </p><p>“Jaime.” Her fingers brushed his cheek. </p><p><em>Seven heavens</em>. If he hadn’t known where the old territory ended and this one began, this was it.</p><p>“Brienne.” His mouth had grown dry.</p><p>She smiled. So close. So warm.</p><p>“Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.”</p><p>If Cleos hadn’t been between them, Jaime would have leaned forward and kissed her. Instead, he took a ragged breath, and when Brienne turned to go back to sleep, so did he.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <strong>Three months before</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>Jaime returned from the kitchen with two cups of tea. The rain had ceased, but the cold remained. </p><p>Brienne was all snuggled up on his couch below the only quilt he owned. Aunt Genna had bought it for him but she swore it was hand-knit, and that, according to her, made it quote-unquote <em>legitimate</em>.</p><p>Books with dozens of color-coded post-its and hand-written notes covered the coffee table. Against the odds, researching was proving to be fun again. His newest article had sort of started as a rant after they watched one of those horribly inaccurate historical dramas, and it had taken a shape of its own after that. </p><p>Brienne texted him a list of possible sources almost immediately, pushing him to prove he was right, so Jaime turned it into a competition. He’d write the paper on the use of the Kingslayer figure in political propaganda if Brienne made her presentation on the ways first-hand and official accounts of the Long Night differed. There was an upcoming conference hosted by the Tully Museum, and Jaime gloated at the prospect of Brienne having a spot. </p><p>Hours were spent throwing questions at the other, debating the validity of texts, and taking turns to make coffee. It became clear early on that it would be better if they also did research together, so Brienne proposed they use Jaime’s living room. </p><p>Jaime’s favorite part was that Brienne sometimes stayed for a bit afterwards. Particularly when it rained. </p><p>When he offered her the cup, one of Brienne’s hands darted out to snatch it, returning triumphantly to her fortress of comfort. She blew on it and sipped, humming with pleasure. </p><p>His chest swelled. The more he saw of her, the more he was convinced she was meant to be surrounded by warm and pretty things. She cheated, of course. She could be very cute when she wanted to, the devious beanpole.  </p><p>“You’ll have to come out of your den eventually,” he sat back on the sofa. “It’s almost time for dinner.” </p><p>“You stole my defenses,” she eyed the blue hoodie Jaime was wearing. “You could return it to me, and I might help you cook.”</p><p>“And if I don’t, what?” Jaime smirked. “You’ll fight me for it?”</p><p>She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tempt me.”</p><p>“You’re all bluff,” Jaime stood up. “Buff bluff.”</p><p>“I’m stronger than you,” she warned.</p><p>“If you want it so much, come get it.” </p><p>She was so quick on her feet he almost lost his balance retreating to the kitchen. There was some light-hearted grappling and pushing. He giggled, she grunted, but by the end they were on opposite sides of the fridge’s door. </p><p>“Still on,” Jaime declared, tugging at the hoodie. “I win. Pay up.”</p><p>“Alright,” Brienne licked her lips, recovering her breath. “What do you want?”</p><p>Jaime opened his mouth to say, and caught himself before it came out. </p><p>He blinked twice. Leaned back. Searched her face. Pondered.</p><p>“If you don’t tell me,” Brienne threatened, hands on hips. “I’ll just take the easiest job.”</p><p>“Some competence with a blade will suffice tonight,” he said, ignoring the swoop in his stomach. “Can you handle it?”</p><p>She grabbed the closest knife and pointed it at him. “I can handle anything.”</p><p>He wondered how she’d handle the kiss he almost asked of her, and whether or not she’d agree to it.</p><p>When Brienne left that night, he didn’t bring up the fact she left her hoodie behind. </p>
<hr/><p>“No,” Jaime tugged the rope, eliciting a yelp from Vargo. “With <em>me</em>.”</p><p>Visitors scooted past them, going from one overflowing stall to another. Tables were laid out with wooden tools and iron weapons. Lemon cakes and mead were sold by girls dressed in bad reconstructions of age-old dresses, while the boys pretended to be pages and squires for the public.</p><p>It was noisy, it was joyful, and, if you ignored the bigger inaccuracies, it was quite charming—something Jaime never thought he’d say of any Bolton enterprise. </p><p>Across from him was the petting zoo, an extended enclosure full of children screaming at sheep and calves. From where he stood he could see Brienne, immersed in a long conversation with a young woman in a pink shirt, who was in turn on the throes of feeding a rabbit. </p><p>The height difference was delightful. Brienne’s efforts not to loom over the tiny woman were as endearing as they were futile, but the girl didn’t seem to mind, only glancing up from time to time. Jaime assumed that fearlessness was a consequence of working with children and goats all day.</p><p>Brienne said something that finally made the girl gape like an astonished fish, and then Brienne turned and pointed at where Jaime and Vargo were under an oak.</p><p>Jaime waved at them. </p><p>The woman in pink scampered off, disappearing behind a door, and returned less one rabbit and plus a young man. He also wore the Bolton pink. </p><p>All three approached, the caretakers hurrying to keep up with Brienne’s strides. The boy’s hands darted to his mouth, incredulous.</p><p>“Vargo?” </p><p>The girl rushed to remove the hoodie covering its eyes. </p><p>“Oh my gods, it’s him!” </p><p>“In the flesh,” Jaime took Brienne’s hoodie from her. “Not a scratch on its beard.”</p><p>After a few cries of celebration, the caretakers dissolved in apologies and explanations, which Jaime and Brienne listened to politely, unable to shoo their enthusiasm away. It turned out Vargo the goat had been missing for days, and had a habit of playing hooky. </p><p>Jaime gave Brienne a meaningful look, and she hid her smile. </p><p>“Please, wait,” the girl said then. She scurried off while her partner scratched Vargo’s chest. </p><p>“I hope he wasn’t much of a problem, we really are grateful,” the boy repeated for the hundredth time.</p><p>“So grateful,” the girl returned, placing some dozen tickets in Brienne’s hand. “Please, enjoy the fair.”</p><p>Jaime opened his mouth to refuse the gift, but Brienne stopped him with a gesture, and accepted it with a nod. </p><p>The caretakers beamed. With food and more petting, they coaxed Vargo behind its fence, which they took great care in locking with a key.</p><p>“Well,” Brienne sighed. “It’s done.” </p><p>“I hate goodbyes,” Jaime said flatly. “But I’ll live.” She rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. “Ready to go?”</p><p>Brienne held the tickets up and considered it. </p><p>“Actually, since we’re here…” She yawned, stretching her arms above her head, much to Jaime’s enjoyment. “It might be good to explore.” </p><p>“We did earn it,” Jaime agreed. He tried to brush some of the goat hair and dried mud off her hoodie, before handing it back to her. “Thank you. It’s been keeping me warm all these months.”</p><p>Brienne blushed a little, but took the hoodie and tied it around her waist, like the dork she was.</p><p> “Though we <em>are</em> a long way off,” he gave her a deliberate grin. “I checked the map.” </p><p>She covered his face with her hand and playfully shoved him away. </p><p>“Don’t even <em>pretend</em> you don’t want to look around.” Brienne strode away among the visitors and the stalls, and Jaime trailed after her. “Besides, I want to know what you think is so cool about this place.”</p><p>“It’s only the biggest stronghold in the area,” he said, as if she didn’t know that already. He adopted an affected deep voice, pointing at the tall walls and the chipped stone. “Big enough that it overshadowed other castles for everyone else.”</p><p>A man dressed as a poor imitation of a jester ambled past. </p><p>“It’s cheesy,” Brienne chortled. </p><p>“It’s <em>charming</em>. You’re charmed already, I can tell.”</p><p>“Their goats are master escapists,” Brienne shrugged. “Reflects well on the place.”</p><p>“And it’s good to lose a Cleos in it,” Jaime glanced around, trying to spot the muttonhead he had for a cousin. </p><p>“Jaime Lannister,” Brienne faked surprise. “Are you worried about your extended family?”</p><p>“It’s for my <em>aunt’s</em> sake, as you well know.”</p><p>“Heavens forbid.”</p><p>They exchanged a chuckle and continued their walk. </p><p>Jaime was uncomfortably aware of his sweaty palms, but repeated to himself that this was good. The drive to Harrenhal had been a silent one. Brienne had focused on the road, only glancing at him from time to time. Cleos had decidedly kept to himself in the back of the car, likely ashamed by the memory of waking up hugging Jaime like a teddy bear. Or, worse still, ashamed by the fact he hurried to break away from their embrace, smacking poor Miss Tarth in the face.</p><p>She’d been gracious about it. Jaime had found it hilarious. Cleos had disappeared the moment they had parked outside the castle, probably convinced he’d ruined his professional career yet again.</p><p>Clenching his good hand, Jaime stole a glance at Brienne. Her eyes shone in the sunlight, her pale skin had a soft pink shade from the heat. <em>Happy</em>, Jaime thought, satisfied.</p><p>Brienne pointed at a particular tent and they trotted to it. It bore a shabby sign that read «The Bear Pit» on top. It was a shooting game. A series of stuffed animals and bullseyes lined up the wall, waiting to be claimed with darts.</p><p>“Maybe we should get one for Cleos,” Brienne elbowed Jaime. </p><p>“Funny, wench,” Jaime rolled his eyes. “Try to get a wolf.”</p><p>“You already got a wolf keychain at the inn,” she said, changing some tickets for darts. </p><p>“It’s called thematic consistency.”</p><p>“A bear it is,” she announced. Closing an eye, she took her aim and threw.</p><p>When they walked away, Jaime carried the toy in his injured arm. The bear had a crimson silk bow, with the words «<em>Hug Me</em>» printed on the belly. He had it facing forward, so everyone could see the favor she’d given him. </p><p>As they went, it got some curious and pleased glances. Jaime smiled down at Brienne’s bear.</p><p>“This is nice.”</p><p>Fingers ghosted the back of his free hand, and he froze on the spot. His gaze darted up at Brienne, an eyebrow quirked. She blushed but held his eyes, slipping her hand into his, and holding tight.  </p><p>“I think it’s nice too.”</p><p>“Yeah?” Jaime’s face parted in a huge grin. “What’s your favorite part so far?”</p><p>She pulled a face as if she was deep in thought.  </p><p>“I don’t know about you,” she leaned closer, and he shifted so they could be face to face. “But I liked making friends with Vargo.” </p><p>“Really?” Jaime stepped forward, their chests almost pressed together. “Lucky Vargo.”</p><p>“I liked the Bear Pit stand,” Cleos chimed in at Jaime’s side. </p><p>Jaime gave Brienne’s hand a squeeze before turning to his cousin, who had armed himself with popcorn and a new bracelet.</p><p>“You know what, coz?” Jaime narrowed his eyes, and Cleos stepped back, gaping when he realized what they had been trying to do. “Me too.”</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <strong>Six months later</strong>
  </em>
</p><p>Jaime was playing Tetris on his phone when his desktop lit up. It was an invitation for the brand new Northern History Exhibition. When he opened the email, he realized it had a personalized note from Brienne. “<em>It’s here!!!! Dr Stark told me you recommended me ^-^ So I recommended you  &lt;33 You’re officially invited to the party, yay! See you in two weeks XOXO</em>”</p><p>He chuckled at it. Brienne had taken it upon herself to be as obnoxious as possible in his work inbox. “Imagine the smile of a future historian when they see it,” she had said. He hadn’t argued against that logic.</p><p>There were still things to prepare, and Jaime and Brienne had been working together to get it all ready. She had to come South to finalize some negotiations with the Tully Museum (Jaime intended to be generous in their meetings). The excavation had yielded another helm with Stark motifs as well, and she figured it was worth taking a look at before finally taking Widow’s Wail up North, where its twin was waiting. </p><p>On impulse he stood and walked down the halls to where they kept temporary exhibitions. Visitors came and went, admiring Widow’s Wail in its case. Everyone awed at the black and red ripples, at its lion-headed pommel. They stopped at the screens that told the story of loss, love, and survival that came with it. They mumbled among themselves with approval at the artistic animations of the great heroes.</p><p>Brienne had been right, and the background music gave it a solemnity everyone seemed to enjoy.</p><p>Jaime avoided a line, scooted past some teenagers, and prepared his phone. The selfie showed the sword in the background, bathed in natural light, people shuffling around it. Only the upper part of his head was visible, up to his eyes, half-squinting with his smile.</p><p>He texted it to Brienne. “<em>we’re ready!!!!</em>” </p><p>Then he strolled all the way back to his office, watching the stone work and the tapestries with the fascination they always evoked in him. Everywhere was a bit lonelier since Brienne had left, as she usually filled the space with chatter.</p><p>The office felt emptier now as well. </p><p>He sat at the desk and reached for the framed photo he kept by his laptop. Jaime had a big frown in the picture, but Brienne was grinning at the camera. They were all on the backseat of her car. Vargo, rope around its neck, sat between them, hating the fact it had been caught and was on its way home. Cleos, mercifully, had been too distracted to take part in the photo.</p><p>His phone rang with Brienne’s reply. “<em>Thank you for keeping an eye on her &lt;3</em>”.</p><p>Jaime hummed at the pang of yearning in his stomach. “<em>any time</em> <em>&lt;3</em>”</p><p>He put the phone down, then picked it up again. “<em>also you owe me dinner. and a boat.</em>”</p><p>He’d been sending her constant updates for their “itinerary” once she returned. It had started with genuine suggestions of things they might do, but by now he sent the most ludicrous options he could find. The boat on the Trident had been an inspired idea.</p><p>Her reply came through almost immediately. “<em>Sell out -.- Also, miss you.</em>”</p><p>“<em>miss you too</em> <em>:D</em>”</p><p>How lucky he was, Jaime pondered. He’d see history being made. After centuries away, Widow’s Wail would finally sit where it always belonged, in the company of its mirror blade. All because of one magnificent Brienne Tarth. </p><p>Sitting in his office, Jaime grinned with pride, because he got to come with her.</p><p>Though this time, they had booked a flight.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks to the great organizers of this challenge, your work has been amazing and I've enjoyed myself immesely. Once again, thanks to my beta for helping and cheering along. And of course, thanks tall_wolf_of_tarth for the prompts. I hope you had fun reading their shenanigans!</p><p>Also, if I am the one to write all the "road trip with Cleos" modern AUs so be it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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